Drawing a Blank
by ihavethehotsfordemondean
Summary: Lestrade stumbles upon a girl whose memory is completely gone. Not knowing how to help her, he brings her to Sherlock and John, hoping that Sherlock can deduce some things about her to help her bring her memory back. Instead, Sherlock and John find themselves on a case involving Moriarty. (PRE-REICHENBACH. A bit AUish.)
1. Identity Crisis

"Don't worry, he'll be able to figure it," Greg Lestrade tried to calm a near hysterical girl, as he drove a little bit faster than was probably necessary. Nearly an hour ago he'd found her wandering the streets, a crazed look in her eye. Greg had stopped her, for he thought she was under the influence. It was dark, and a young, beautiful girl did not need to be wandering the streets alone, especially if she was drunk or high.

It turned out, however, that she was neither. No, in fact, she was lost. Lost and confused. The girl had no recollection of who she was, whatsoever. She didn't know her name, her age, where she lived, if she had any living relatives. Nothing. Really, all the girl knew was that she'd woken up on the sidewalk, in front of a very fancy hotel.

"Look, we're here, it's going to be alright," he told her, hopping out of his car, the young girl following suit. She was of average height and had a full head of blonde hair. She had vibrant green eyes, and freckles lightly dusted her face and arms. It was hard to make out any more features than this on the girl, however, because of how dark it was out.

"I'm still confused. You're a detective, shouldn't you be investigating this?" Her voice was soft, yet commanding, although you couldn't really tell due to the panic laced in her words.

"Sherlock's well, he's something of a genius—don't tell him I said that, he'll never shut up, egotistical prat. I'll be working on your case, but it's tricky because we don't have anything to go on. He might be able to give us something."

"Right," she nodded, following Greg up the steps to 221B.

"Sherlock," Greg called out, knocking on the door, before just entering. "Oh, hello, John," he greeted the other man, who was currently sitting in his chair typing something on his blog. "This is, well...You see we don't know who this is. Where's Sherlock?"

"Here," a voiced announced from the kitchen, "What could you possibly need at this hour, Lestrade?" The other man asked, pretending to be irritated. Although, Sherlock didn't really care what time it was. A good case was a good case, whether it was one in the morning, or five in the evening, Sherlock didn't care.

Greg rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore Sherlock's comment. Guiding the girl to the couch, he sat down next to her. "I was driving home when I saw her," Greg told Sherlock, pointing at the girl.

"Yes, yes. You thought she was high or drunk, picked her up to make sure she didn't get receive unwanted male attention, why you brought her here is beyond me."

"I'm here because I'm none of those things," the girl finally spoke up, "I woke up a couple of hours ago on the sidewalk. I can't remember anything. I don't know my name. I don't know who I am. It's all gone. I can't remember anything."

"Nothing?" Sherlock inquired, softly.

"Nothing."

"Liar." Looking at the girl carefully, she seemed almost offended, he elaborated, "You remember something. What is it?"

The girl let out a sigh, "Alright, yes. I do remember something. I just...I figured it wasn't important to mention."

"Everything is important," John piped up, "Hell, what colour socks you were wearing could bust the whole case wide open." Truthfully, Sherlock did deduce and solve crimes with less than that to go on.

"Right," the girl eyed him, carefully, "I remember a man. He wasn't too tall, dark hair...I remember his eyes. They were brown. A normal colour, but they looked...So...Insane. From what I remember, he was. Certifiable. Completely off his rocker."

"Interesting," Sherlock commented, moving about the room, not even looking at the girl. "Do you remember a name?"

"You expect me to remember the name of some man, when I can't even remember my own?" She exclaimed, and all he did in return was look at her expectantly. "Yes, alright. I think it was something with a J. John, no. Jimmy. Hmm no. James. I think that's it. James. But I'm not sure."

Sherlock shared a look with John. James. It couldn't be...Could it? Shaking his head in thought, Sherlock stood on his chair, staring the girl down. "You seem to believe you're right. That's probably his name then. Was he well dressed? When you see him in your mind, is he wearing a nice suit?"

"Yes, actually. How'd you know that?"

John groaned, just what they needed. Just what they bloody needed. James Moriarty actually alive and kicking. Oh weren't they lucky. "Lestrade this case definitely interests me. I need you to get a picture of this girl. Scan her face in all the data bases. Until then, she can stay here."

"Sherlock, do you think that's wise?" Greg asked, not sure if he should leave this poor girl here. "She should probably get some medical attention. I don't know why I brought her here first, that was silly of me. You'll have to let me take her to the hospital first."

"No," Sherlock replied, firmly. "John's a doctor, he'll look over her."

"Sherlock, I have to insist-"

"No," Sherlock interrupted, "When you hear the name James, what comes to mind, Lestrade? Or maybe the name Jim might jog your memory." Sherlock stared intently at Lestrade, waiting for him to put two and two together.

"Wait. You don't think..."

"Yes, I do think. In fact, I'm quite positive. All evidence points to Jim. We can't let her go to a hospital. I don't know why she lived, but we can't risk having her disappear under our noses. John will look after her."

"Right. I can do that. Don't worry, Greg, she'll be fine. I'll take good care of her. You should get home," John convinced him, "I've got it all under control. If anything is questionable, I'll take her to a hospital, immediately. Trust us on this one."

"I can handle myself," the girl promised, not at all concerned with the idea of being left at 221B with virtual strangers. Suspicious,Sherlock thought.

"Fine. I'm not too chuffed about this, but fine. Just, Sherlock...Be nice," and with that, he waved goodbye to the girl, and exited 221B.

"Oh, excellent," Sherlock beamed, rubbing his hands together, "What fun." Sherlock's happiness was overtly obvious. In John's opinion, Sherlock really shouldn't be quite so happy to hear that James was back in action. No one should be happy to hear that, let alone excited. And that's exactly what Sherlock was, excited. The game was on. Sherlock loved the game, he didn't care who was murdered.

"Where did you say you woke up?" Sherlock inquired, picking up his violin.

"Outside of this really fancy hotel. It was called The Dorchester, if I remember correctly..." she pondered it for a moment, "Yes, definitely The Dorchester."

"That hotel is extravagant!" John exclaimed, "It's nearly 2,000 a night, if not more."

"Mmm, yes," Sherlock interjected, beginning to play his violin. Thinking then, John realized. He was too deep in thought to pay attention to whatever else John had to say, so he instead turned his attention to the girl.

"My name is John, by the way. In case you didn't catch it in all of this madness. And that's Sherlock," he smiled at her, trying to make her feel welcome, knowing that Sherlock would make it difficult enough. "Would you like some tea?"

"Oh, yes that would be lovely," she smiled at John sweetly, and followed him into the kitchen.

"We'll have to figure something out to call you," he realized out loud. "Pick a name for yourself."

She looked around the flat, and her eyes fell on a bunch of lilies that were currently occupying the table. John noticed that Sherlock had definitely been experimenting on them. "Lily," she announced after a brief moment.

John nodded, "That'll do nicely, and it will give us something to call you instead of just 'Hey, you.'"

"Is he going to be able to help me?" she asked, after they had settled at the table with their tea. Her eyes were on Sherlock, who was still playing the violin, in a world of his own.

"I think he should be able to clear some things up for you, yes. He can't, of course, bring your memory back. But he should be able to give you bits and pieces," John gave her a smile, "He wants to solve this case, especially since Moriarty's involved. You're insanely lucky. He might've not been interested if it weren't for that bit."

"Right. Moriarty? You think the man I mentioned is this Moriarty bloke?" she asked, curiously.

"I'm sure of it," Sherlock said, traipsing into the kitchen, "All evidence points toward it."


	2. A Message?

After tea, John quickly gave the girl- Lily- a routine check-up. Surprisingly, there was no physical damage to her, except for some bruises on her arm. This was very confusing. If her memory was missing, why wasn't there any head trauma. Ignoring that thought for the moment, John settled the girl in his bedroom. She'd be sleeping there for the time being, seeing as Sherlock had offered their flat up as a hotel. Although, John couldn't really blame the man. Moriarty was involved, that always changed everything.

Coming back down the stairs, John told Sherlock, "She's resting. It's probably been a confusing day for her."

"She's hiding something..." Sherlock was laying on the couch, his right arm littered with nicotine patches.

"Enjoying yourself there?" John just shook his head, and seated himself in his arm chair.

"John," Sherlock directed a look that begged the question 'are you stupid?' at John, before simply saying, "Moriarty."

"Yes, Sherlock, thank you, I'd nearly forgotten."

"Think, would you? This is very atypical of him. He had this girl...And he just let her go? Something doesn't add up."

"Of course something doesn't add up, it's Moriarty. Since when has he started following patterns?" John just rolled his eyes, picking up his laptop.

"Oh, _oh_, that's good, John," Sherlock commended. Clearly something John had said set something off in Sherlock's brain.

"Care to share what's going on in that head of yours?" John asked, curiously.

"Hush, John, I'm thinking."

"Right."

* * *

><p>In the morning, John awoke on the couch. Sherlock, who was still milling about the room, was perched in his chair, staring at some documents.<p>

"What've you got there?" John inquired, his voice gruff. Moving into the kitchen, John put the kettle on. He began to look for something he could make for breakfast, seeing as they had a guest. Speaking of which, at that moment, Lily chose to grace them with her presence.

"Morning," John greeted happily, cracking two eggs into a pan, "I hope you like eggs."

"Good morning," she smiled at John, then turned to Sherlock, who was clearly deep in thought, and decided to leave him alone. "I can't remember if I like them, but they smell delicious."

"Guess we'll just have to find out then, won't we?" John eyed Sherlock for a moment, "Will you be joining us for breakfast?" John didn't even know why he bothered asking, Sherlock never ate when they were on a case, especially not interesting ones.

"Yes," came the surprising answer.

"Wait...Yes?" John looked at Sherlock suspiciously. What was he up to?

"Have you lost your ability to hear?" Sherlock sat down at the table, waiting with an impatient look on his face.

"Right." Not bothering to question Sherlock any further, John placed tea and some food on the table.

Lily hadn't even had the chance to get a bite of food before Sherlock was spewing out questions again. She answered them all rather patiently. John was surprised. If it would have been him, in her position, he'd have been fed up with Sherlock by now.

"Retell me your story," Sherlock commanded, leaving no room for argument, "Pretend I haven't heard it before, don't leave out a single detail."

"Okay, right. So, I woke up on the pavement, right in front of The Dorchester. The first thing I realized when I woke up, was that I couldn't remember anything. Well, anything except for that man. I walked around, a little bit dazed from just waking up, when the DI picked me up and brought me here." As she told her story, Sherlock nodded, paying close attention to each and every detail. It all matched up to what she had said last night. There weren't any extra details. Sherlock would almost say it was rehearsed, if he didn't think the girl was genuine.

"And you can't remember anything else? Anything at all?" Sherlock held his fork in his hand, but instead of using it for its actual purpose, he was waving it around as he questioned her.

"No, I've told you everything I remember, honestly."

"Lovely," Sherlock sighed, before stalking off, leaving an untouched plate of food in front of him.

"Is he always so...Intense?" she questioned John.

"Unfortunately so," John shook his head, "I've gotten used to it."

Later that afternoon, Sherlock dragged John and Lily down to The Dorchester. It was a large building, and it emulated fancy. John was surprised that Lily had said she'd woken up in front of this building. Wouldn't a valet or something see her laying on the ground, and try to escort her off the property. They wouldn't deal well with some girl just lying on the ground in front of their hotel.

While John pondered this, Sherlock was busy examining the area where Lily had told him she'd awoken. He'd pulled out his magnifying glass, and was staring quite intently at the pavement.

"I don't know what exactly you expect to find there," Lily remarked, "It's just pavement."

"Every detail matt-"

"Yes, Sherlock, we know. Every detail is overwhelmingly important. Just hurry this up, people are starting to stare," John interrupted.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock ignored John, choosing to keep looking at the ground. "Aha!" he exclaimed, after a moment.

"Yes?" John tapped his foot impatiently on the ground, arms crossed, fixing Sherlock with a stare.

"You were definitely placed here. Probably not long before you woke up."

"How could you know that?" the girl looked at him curiously.

"Well right here the dirt-"

"Right, as fascinating as this is, do you think you could explain it elsewhere, like in the back of a cab.

"Yes, fine," Sherlock sighed, hailing a cab. As they all piled in, Sherlock explained how he knew she'd been placed there.

"And this is helpful how?"

"Well, we know you didn't escape. Moriarty let you go for a reason. He placed you at that hotel for a reason. He's sending a message," Sherlock replied as if it were blatantly obvious.

"And what exactly is this message?" Lily questioned, frustration seeping into her voice.

"That's what we need to find out."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Hello! This is my first ever fic, and I really hope you enjoy reading it. I'd greatly appreciate some constructive criticism and some feedback. :)<p> 


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